


Battlefield

by olndina



Series: Repair [2]
Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 09:43:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1774564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olndina/pseuds/olndina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint doesn’t hear Steve entering the bathroom, disrobing from his uniform, or sliding into the shower (he’s not upset by his lack of awareness, not when he’s at the Tower and he’s one floor above Bruce Banner).  Clint figures he’s pretty much gone, because the first he’s actually aware of his lover’s presence is when Steve presses himself into Clint’s back.  Yeah, Steve’s blocking the stream of water, but it is so worth it when he whispers, “I love you.  I’m here.  I’ve got you.”  Steve doesn’t ask him what’s wrong, because he knows.</p><p> </p><p>Clint has to make a judgment call that he's not entirely sure was the right one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battlefield

**Author's Note:**

> This work has been to a beta. All remaining mistakes are my own. Concrit is welcome.
> 
> TW: Clint describes a battlefield incident in which he has to choose between shooting a brainwashed kid or letting that brainwashed kid kill Natasha. He shoots the kid.

Clint doesn’t hear Steve entering the bathroom, disrobing from his uniform, or sliding into the shower (he’s not upset by his lack of awareness, not when he’s at the Tower and he’s one floor above Bruce Banner).  Clint figures he’s pretty much gone, because the first he’s actually aware of his lover’s presence is when Steve presses himself into Clint’s back.  Yeah, Steve’s blocking the stream of water, but it is so worth it when he whispers, “I love you.  I’m here.  I’ve got you.”  Steve doesn’t ask him what’s wrong, because he knows.

Since Loki, every mission comes with the risk that Clint will come home a little more broken.  His ability to compartmentalize and do the job is in the same rubble as P.E.G.A.S.U.S., where Fury tried to bury the Tesseract, Loki, Clint, and Fury himself.  Clint doesn’t wish Fury had been successful—not anymore, not since Steve—but he sometimes wishes he could regain that ability to turn off that part of himself that can focus on the job and not on the people he fails to protect, the ones whose deaths he hastens. 

Eventually, after Steve’s hands and fingers have traced over Clint’s scars, giving Clint something else to focus on, to leave the mission behind however briefly, his breathing settles and he can say, “Hey.  When, uh, when’d you get back?”

“Three hours ago.  I had to debrief.”

“Yeah. Can’t save the world without a debrief.” The only sound for a minute is the water sluicing across Steve’s back.  Clint whispers, “I missed you.”

Steve nips his shoulder.  “Yeah?”

“ ‘Course. My back hasn’t been properly cleaned in a month.  Ow.”  Clint rubs his butt cheek.  “What was that for?”

“Ass.”

“Yep, that _was_ my ass; you smacked it.”

“Sure did.”

Clint rolls his eyes.  “Is there a reason you smacked it?”

“Because.”

“Because…”

“Just because.  Now hand me that not-a-sponge thing.  I’ll clean your damn back.” Clint hands the loofa and the body wash to Steve.  He wasn’t completely lying; he had missed having Steve in their shower, and Steve’s hands on his back.  The moan of pleasure that works its way from his core stills Steve’s hands.  “That good, huh?” The answer’s hidden under the thunk Clint’s forehead makes as it connects with the tile.  Steve smooths the body wash over his back with one hand, the loofa following after. The moans and groans continue to tumble out of Clint’s mouth. Clint can hear the arousal coloring Steve’s voice. “Not for nothing, Clint, but the last time you made those noises for me, I had your cock in my mouth.”

“Jesus, Steve, you know what talking like that does to me.”

“You know, I don’t think I do. Maybe you should tell me.”  Clint reaches behind himself, bats the loofa to the floor, and puts Steve’s hand on his hardness.  “Okay, now this seems familiar.  Let me just, uh…”  If there was an end to that sentence, Steve loses it as his hand strokes faster.  Clint hisses a breath in as teeth on his ear set him to curse and praise Steve alternately. Clint allows his legs to turn to jelly, digging his fingers into Steve’s forearm pressed across his chest.  “That’s it, babe, I got you, always got you. I love you, love you, only you.”  A slight thrust of his hips punctuates his last statement and Clint isn’t entirely sure it was a voluntary movement on Steve’s part, but, fuck, if Clint cares. He’s in his guy’s arms and he’s _safe_. The hardness pressing into his backside is a reminder that out of all the shit things that have happened to him since the blue clouded his eyes, this moment with this man is one of the best things that has ever happened to him.  Clint is precious to Steve, is Steve’s to protect and hold dear.  No longer a slow build-up, Clint’s orgasm tightens through his gut and he comes with a broken sound.

When he’s coherent again, he’s slouched against the tiled wall, Steve sitting beside him, his dick covered in conditioner, both hands stroking his shaft.  Clint’s movements are sluggish as he makes a move to help finish Steve off, but Steve just flaps a hand at Clint and, yeah, okay it’s probably better this way because Clint’s fucking _wrecked_ right now.  So, it’s just fine with Clint, really, because Steve always looks so beautiful when he touches himself, as though he’s surprised that he’s allowed to feel like this in front of someone else, at his most unguarded.  Clint’s the only one alive who’s ever seen this.  Steve suddenly shifts, cock momentarily forgotten as he reaches beneath himself and produces the loofa, which he promptly chucks at Clint when he sees the smirk on his face. More comfortable now, Steve crooks up his legs and rests his head on the tiles.  If his eyes were open, Clint knows, they would be blown wide. Steve’s lips part and he foregoes his nipples in favor of fondling his balls. He’s close now.  If Clint had been allowed to take on a more active role than audience, this would be the moment he’d straddle Steve’s thighs and join his hands with Steve’s as his strokes become firmer.  Instead, though, Clint only mirrors Steve as the other man catches his bottom lip with his teeth. After one last lungful of air, Steve’s suddenly a taut bowstring as his orgasm tears through him, only loud because of its utter lack of sound.  Finally, Steve’s muscles go lax and he sprawls onto Clint, who grunts.

“Heavy.”

Steve’s words are a slur. “Shut up.  You love it.”

Clint’s response is to wrap his arms around Steve and kiss the top of his head.

They sit like that for awhile, Clint holding Steve, the shower keeping them warm and pliant.  He lets Steve fake sleep for a few more minutes before he speaks, so quietly that anyone but Steve wouldn’t be able to hear him.

“They were just kids, Steve.” He hadn’t been moving, but Clint feels how still Steve suddenly becomes. “One of them stabbed Nat in the leg, damn near hit her artery, and I couldn’t, could not let them kill her, let her be the one to…” He thinks of Nat’s ledger, the red in it. Whatever post-coital bliss he had been feeling is long gone and he’s there again, back in the place where he’s a failure, and he knows Steve knows he’s there, knows Steve wants to turn and be the one to hold instead, so Clint tightens his arms around the larger man.  He can’t get this out of his system if Steve looks at him, absolves him. “I didn’t even think, just loosed enough arrows to keep them from hurting anyone else. Who the fuck uses kids? The youngest was, what, ten? I…” He swallows down the bile threatening to do what bile does best. “I don’t know if I’d have done any differently if it had been Bonnie going for Nat.  Would I have killed her?  Shot her to save a woman who’s killed more people than I have?  To save my friend, my sister?  Steve, what - ”  This time, he has no choice but to let Steve gather him in his arms.  Steve won’t try to convince him that he did what he had to do, or that he should just be grateful that he didn’t have to choose between Natasha and Bonnie; platitudes do little to splint together broken soldiers who still have to wake in the morning to fight the good fight (even if the fight’s always bad). Clint cries— _can_ cry now—and lets Steve be the one to turn the water off, to dry them, and move them to the bedroom. Clint feels so fucking relieved and in awe of this man that his chest tightens when looks up from where Steve’s turning down the bed. The smile he sends Clint is the smile Clint will spend the rest of his days working for.

Tomorrow, they’ll fuck as soon as they’re both awake.  Then, they’ll join the team for breakfast, at which time Clint will squeeze Natasha’s shoulder and kiss her on the cheek.  She’ll slug him in the thigh and give him that small smile, the only one that’s genuine.  After they eat, Steve will call Bonnie’s mom so that Bonnie can spend the day with her two favorite uncles.  It won’t be until after they’ve spent the day at the park with her that Steve will tell Clint that the kids were already dead, their bodies just animated corpses.  The archer will not be comforted by this fact, will still punish himself on the range in the evening, will hold his draw until his arms shake. Steve will have to order him to bed, and they will argue about Clint’s disregard for his own well-being.  But that’s all tomorrow. Tonight, they dim the lights, crawl under the blankets, and cling to one another, two broken soldiers desperate to stay whole.

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place at some ambiguous point after "Carnage."


End file.
